My oldest has always been a Daddy’s girl. They both love their father, but when I say Daddy’s girl you know the bond I am talking about. My Alison worships the ground her father walks on. He walks on water, and so whenever he disappoints her even on the smallest scale she cries like the sky has fallen.

I have always believed that our daughters—and by “our” I am talking about yours, too—learn things from their father or the male figure in their life. They look to him to see what a “real” man does. They look to him to see the differences between themselves and the world of males. And perhaps most importantly, they look to him to see what they do or don’t want in a man.

I know I did it. I did it with silly things. I liked a man with little chest hair, like my dad. With dark eyes, like my dad. Someone I could talk to…you get the point.

One of the things my husband is proudest of since becoming a father is that girls believe a Daddy goes to work. They play “work” by grabbing a purse or backpack—he has a satchel—and then they inform me they are going to work. In about twenty of so seconds they return home from their long day to be hugged and kissed and welcomed home.

Each morning my daughter will either tell me “Daddy is at work, Mama,” or ask me where he is. When I reply “At work,” she says, “Oh. Yeah.” While they love the weekends best because he is at home, he nonetheless loves that their idea of a Daddy is that he goes to work.